


Don't drink and touch

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drunk Matt is out of control, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4370108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy knew.</p>
<p>Foggy knew about his abilities, he knew he could hear his heart race with excitement when the first base touched the other player with his glove, he knew that he could feel his vocal chords moving when he groaned in frustration over the umpire calling yet another unfair strike.</p>
<p>Foggy <i>knew</i>.</p>
<p>So Matt drank. And drank. And then drank some more for good measure, dopily grinning, because he could get so wrecked and still don’t be afraid to spill the beans, because Foggy knew!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't drink and touch

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fill waaaay back when I barely got into the kinkmeme and promptly forgot about it until I decided to show it to a friend. So here it is also on ao3, now.
> 
> [Original prompt here](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=386005#cmt386005)

Matt is very, very, very, very _drunk_.

Oh, he has been very drunk in the past. During College, especially, where he would sometimes get lenient and let himself drink one beer too many, though Foggy always thought Matt was just making things up when he loudly whispered to him that the girls across the room where _totally_ appreciating Foggy’s ass. So his secret was safe.

(It was true, by the way. They where very… Explicit. Matt agreed. Foggy had a very nice ass.)

But now he was _Very Really Drunk_. All capitals. Maybe some italics too.

It wasn’t a special occasion, no celebrating over a won case (or celebrating about having any client _at all_ ). It was just him and Foggy, sitting at the bar during a slow, quiet Sunday evening, having some chicken wings and sipping ice cold beer.   
Foggy was watching the tv, grumbling about unfair umpires calling strikes that _didn’t existed, seriously, that throw was like, a mile away from home base_ , when Matt had The Revelation.

Foggy knew.

Foggy knew about his abilities, he knew he could hear his heart race with excitement when the first base touched the other player with his glove, he knew that he could feel his vocal chords moving when he groaned in frustration over the umpire calling yet another unfair strike.

Foggy _knew_.

So Matt drank. And drank. And then drank some more for good measure, dopily grinning, because he could get so wrecked and still don’t be afraid to spill the beans, because Foggy knew!

So yeah, back to being Oh So Drunk. So. So Drunk.  
It was amazing. Matt had surpassed the point where everything felt as if it was covered in cotton and sounds, taste and smells were mixed and blurry, he surpassed the point where his senses where going batshit insane telling him there was rust growing an atom at time in Josie’s sink and that the guy playing pool totally wanted to scratch his buttcheek. Now he was hyper aware of his surrounding, it was as if his senses had even become stronger. He could feel everything at the same time, and he could also just decide to concentrate on a single thing and close everything else out. And he did that. He concentrated on Foggy. He could hear every single hair on Foggy’s head shifting, and it was _amazing_.

“Why am I even watching this stupid game anymore, they are so gonna lost.” Foggy sighed. His voice was made of one thousand angel singing. “… Why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, lifting a brow, when he turned to look at Matt.

“I was thinking about that time I told you about those girls in the bar totally appreciating your ass and they where right by the way you have a nice ass and you didn’t believe me but now I can slap in your face that I was totally right because you know about my senses so joke’s on you, AH!”

Foggy blinked. Repeatedly.

“Ok, slow down, Sonic the hedgehog.” He said, carefully peeling Matt’s hand away from the beer bottle he was clutching. It was empty, anyway, no big loss. “Human-to-human speech, buddy. What did you say?”

Matt swayed a little on his stool, thinking. What did he say? He wasn’t sure. Foggy’s fingers on his felt both too hot and too cold, and so, so nice. Matt couldn’t think about anything other than how nice it would be to have those fingers all over his body, especially in his-

“Matt?”

Oh. Right. Human to human speech. What was he talking about, again? Something’s about Foggy’s ass?  
“You have a very nice ass.” He said, firm, nodding.

“Whoa.” Foggy said, frowning. “Thanks, I guess?” He added, dragging the a. “…Are you alright, Matt?” He then said, after some seconds of silence where Matt was too busy getting lost into listening to Foggy’s blood going up into his cheek.

Foggy had to blush in the prettiest way ever, Matt was sure of it.

“Peachy.” Matt replied, grinning. “Never been better. It’s nice to sit with you. You smell good.”

Foggy’s blood was still all in his cheeks “I probably smell like someone who has spent too much time in the same shirt, in New York City, during summer.” Foggy replied evenly. “That’s nothing to write home about, Matt.”

“No. No no nono. You don’t get it.” Matt rushed to the explanation, because he could hear that note of self-deprecation in Foggy’s voice, and he hated that note _so much._ He didn’t want to hear that note ever again, because Foggy was the single most amazing human being that ever walked on earth soil. Too pure and perfect for this world. “You don’t get it.” He repeated. “Everyone smells like that, I don’t care anymore, I can block it out. But you smell like you, and you are amazing, so you smell amazing.”

Nailed it.

Matt got lost into listening Foggy’s breath. In and out. In and out. He had very strong lungs. Matt wanted to touch them.

No, wait, bloody. Painful. Not healthy. But he wanted to touch Foggy’s chest. Yeah, that was safe to touch, wasn’t it? He could touch that.  
He was just about to do so, when Foggy’s voice snapped him back into reality “Matt, are you _high_?”

Matt tilted his head on a side, hands hanging mid-air. “I don’t recall taking drugs.” He said, contemplative. “But I think I drank more than half of that bottle of vodka Josie slipped me while you weren’t watching. And three beers. No, wait. Four. Five?”

Foggy spluttered “Matt!” He put his hands on Matt’s shoulder and, oh. That felt so good. Foggy had such firm hands. Very warm. So nice. Matt was surely melting. “What the fuck, dude?! Are you ok?!”

Oh, he was worried for him. Perfect, perfect human being.

“Yeah…” Matt replied, smiling, patting Foggy’s cheek to reassure him that, see? He was fine!  
Maybe he ought to say that last part out loud, but Foggy’s cheek was soft, and the stubble growing there scratched gently against Matt’s palm. He wondered how it would feel to kiss Foggy, to feel that scratch against his chin, to being able to caress his cheek whenever he felt like to, to gently brush Foggy’s long and so, so soft hair behind his ear, and- 

“Ok, buddy.” Foggy said, and his voice was soft but firm, as if he had taken some kind of decision while Matt was getting lost in his head. “Ok. I think you had enough for today. We getting home now.” Foggy slipped one of his arm on Matt’s back, under his armpit, and suddenly they where upright. The world started to spin, and Matt giggled.  
Foggy dragged him outside Josie’s, taking all his weight. He was so strong, Foggy. The Hulk had nothing on him.

“The Hulk has nothing on you.” Matt said, out loud, ‘cause Foggy had to know how amazing he was. Then giggled again when the cool air outside hit his face.

“I kinda want to ask what the train of thought was, here. But I kinda also don’t.” Foggy muttered. “I need to call a cab, Matt, can you stand on your own?”

Matt distractedly nodded, but then a look of horror crossed his face. “WAIT! You are not putting me on a cab and leaving, are you?!” He asked -yelled-, flailing to find some _part_ of Foggy to hang to. His hands found clothes -good enough- and clutched there.

“I’m not so much of a dick to put the smash face drunk blind guy on a cab and walk away, who have you got me for?” Foggy replied, hard, flailing with his only free arm for a cab.

“Off course you are not.” Matt chirped, moving a hand up to pat Foggy’s hair. “You are so nice. Too nice. I don’t deserve you. So perfect.”  
“What are you… Nevermind.”

They stood in silence while Foggy tried to catch the attention of the first free cab driving by. Matt was still patting his hair, leaning into him, melting into Foggy’s arm around his waist keeping him upright. He was so concentrated on him he literally could not feel anything else. It was as if he was standing into a dark void of nothingness.  
But Foggy was there, real and firm at his side, so he was fine.  
The cab must’ve arrived because now he was gently pulling Matt. Matt let himself be guided, climbed with some fumbling in the backseat, and latched himself on Foggy as soon as he sat near him.

He heard him saying something to the driver, before turning to Matt with a small huff. “Jesus, you should have told me you were half-Koala.”

“I would like to climb you like a tree.” Matt replied, deadpan, and Foggy’s heart skipped a beat. 

OH GOD. Matt patted his chest frantically.

“I’m not even- Oh God, you are so _weird_ right now, dude, for the love of God don’t you ever drink like that ever again.” Foggy said, breathless, and his heart was beating again, but harder, faster. Matt kept patting, you know, to be sure. For science. Or something. “What are you even _doing_?”

“Make sure you heart is fine. Stuff.” Matt replied, his senses picking up the driver shifting and looking at them. He turned toward him and he could hear his eyes getting back to the road.

“You are a lousy doctor. I feel more like you’re an airport security agent feeling me up to make sure I’m not armed…”

Feeling Foggy up. Huh. That wasn’t a bad idea. Could lead to sexytime.  
Matt would totally have some sexytime with Foggy. Yeah, he should do that. So Foggy could catch up to his speed ‘cause he didn’t felt like he has understood just how perfect and amazing he was and how much Matt wanted to worship him. In his bed, possibly.  
The belt around Foggy’s waist wasn’t particularly tight, he never wore it too tight and even less so when they were relaxing instead of working. So Matt’s hand slipped inside easily enough and mmmh, _nice_ …

Foggy made a squeaky sound, something in between baby bird and kicked frog. He tensed up so fast and so much that suddenly it was like leaning on a marble statue. His hand closed on Matt’s wrist with a slap and dragged the hand out with a hard, mechanical gesture.

Matt moaned in protest.

“Shut up, Murdock.” He hissed between his teeth. “Stay put for a goddamn minute. We are almost there.”

Matt obeyed, but only because Foggy sounded really, really mad. Maybe it hadn’t been a great idea. Oops?  
The cab stopped and Foggy dragged him out while telling the driver to keep the rest or something like that. Matt stumbled on the sidewalk and suddenly he was again hyper aware of the cool air and the sound of traffic and someone coughing several floors up and a cat stretching in the alley and- his head was hurting a bit so he shut it all out. Concentrated on Foggy again. Yes. Much safer, much nicer.  
Except now Foggy was marching up to him radiating fury and -huh- maybe not safe anymore?

“What the _fuck_ , man?!” He said, and oh no. No no no why was he angry now? Matt gulped around a knot in his throat.

“I… Huh.” He coughed a bit and swayed, Foggy caught him by his right arm. “I thought it was a good idea?”

“What-in-the- _world_ ” Foggy grunted, his hand a little bit too tight around Matt’s arm. “Made you think… _That_ was a good idea?”

Matt opened and closed his mouth like a fish, words failing him. Was it not a good idea? Foggy had to know how amazing he was. How much Matt loved him. He _had_ to know.  
Matt’s lower lip trembled “I… I tought…” He tried to say, his tongue suddenly feeling like cotton in his mouth. “That you… I… I just wanted to let you know how I feel about you.” He ended, miserable.

Foggy was very tense. He let go of Matt’s arm in favor of gently putting hands on his shoulders. “Ehi. Ehi now, no, don’t make that face…” There’s was a panicky note in his voice. “No— Oh fuck baby Jesus almighty. You’re making the face. Now I feel like I kicked a box full of puppies and kittens and baby ducks.” He sighed, slumping his shoulder, and it was true testament of Matt’s amazingly inebriated state that he didn’t glare at the profanity, but sniffled.

“Okay.” Foggy said, awkwardly petting his left arm. “Okay, you DO NOT shove your hands down someone’s pants by way of confessing your- your feelings! You do not lead with that, okay, Matt? That comes way, _way_ later!”

Matt felt instantly better. Did that meant there could be more feeling Foggy up? “So… I can shove my hands in your pants, but later?” He asked, just to be sure. 

“Ye— NO!” Foggy groaned. “Oh my God.”

Matt giggled. Foggy wasn’t mad. He said yes. Well, sort of.  
He plastered himself against him, nuzzling against Foggy’s cheek.

“You smell so nice.” He said, bubbly. “Can I lick you?”

“Oh. _My God_.”

**

Matt came back into consciousness suddenly and harshly when his head protested with a splitting pain.

“Ow.” He said, and his stomach protested. “Ow. Ow.” 

“Need a basin?”

The voice was a whisper, but it stil went through Matt’s brain like a flaming dagger.

“Foggy?” He croaked out, trying to lift his head up from the pillow and miserably failing. It felt as if it was full of concrete.

“Yeah.” Foggy replied, softly. But there was a very tired note in his voice.

“What are you—“ 

“Making sure my _idiot_ best friend doesn’t vomit all over himself and dies a miserable death.” Foggy replied, practical. “Full night job when someone drinks as much as you did last night. Stupid dumbass.”

Matt slowly, _slowly_ turned on his back. His stomach gave a protest, but he managed. “Oh, God.” He moaned. “I feel like a train run me over. Three times. Just _how much_ did I drink last night?” He asked, voice scratching against his parched throat, dragging an hand across his face.

“You drank like an idiot, stupid dumbass.” Foggy replied. Matt wanted to protest that that wasn’t an answer at all, but it required talking. Painful.

For all his harsh words, Foggy took his hand so gently the touch was barely there, and put a glass of water in it.  
Matt drank, slowly, and when the glass was empty and he felt like he wasn’t gonna spit his stomach out, he sat. The world started spinning and he groaned.  
“Kill me now.” 

“Oh, you don’t get to say that yet, Matty.” Foggy replied, unholy glee in his voice. “You just wait until I tell you what you did last night, _then_ you will say -kill me now- and really mean it.”

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine. That tone of voice never meant anything good. Surely that wasn’t gonna change anytime soon, especially if Matt was involved.  
“Just how big does my shovel need to be?” He asked, weakly.

He could practically feel Foggy’s grin on his _skin_.

(If later that day, after an inhuman amount of teasing, and after Matt had wished for the seventh hundred time that earth would just swallow him, there had been kissing… Well, that was material for another story, now, was it?)


End file.
